


What Hurts the Most

by platonicunicorn



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Everything goes downhill fast, Human AU, M/M, PTSD Dean, Suicide Attempt, Therapy, Tragedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-20
Updated: 2015-05-20
Packaged: 2018-03-31 11:58:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 10
Words: 16,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3977212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/platonicunicorn/pseuds/platonicunicorn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam insists that Dean attends these "group therapy" sessions every Wednesday, and honestly, it's getting a little old. The same sob stories from the same people every week only lasts so long. One day, though, a new person shows up. He's quiet, his tie is backwards, and he's sitting in Dean's chair.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

"We sometimes encounter people, even perfect strangers, who seem to interest us at first sight, somehow suddenly, all at once, before a word has been spoken."

 

— Fydor Dostoevsky, Russian author

 

"I could not tell you if I loved you the first moment I saw you, or if it was the second or third or fourth. But I remember the first moment I looked at you walking toward me and realized that somehow the rest of the world seemed to vanish when I was with you."

 

—Cassandra Clare

 

\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/

 

The car rolls to a stop in the church parking lot, and the two brothers both look down at the clock blinking from the car dash— one in disappointment that they are once again late, and the other in relief for the same reason.

 

"Now," Sam leans over from the driver's seat with determination. "Don't run off to some bar, don't go home with any girls, pay attention to Michael, and _please,_ Dean, try to participate—"

 

"Yeah, yeah, I know. Don't have any fun, sit there and suffer through the monologues. I get the same speech from you every time, Sammy. I'll see you in a couple of hours." Dean rolls his eyes and shuts the passenger side door behind him, shielding his eyes against the glaring sun as he makes his way toward the large church building and, after walking inside, takes the familiar path down the stairs and to the left.

 

He enters the small room where the group therapy session is supposed to take place — seventeen minutes late, because despite Sam's insistences he can never be bothered to actually show up to these damn things on time— and finds that his usual seat in the circle of foldable chairs is already taken. He’s never seen its new occupant here before, which is odd considering this is a group that hasn’t added or dropped any members in at least six months. He contemplates telling the guy that he is in fact in Dean’s chair, the chair he’s sat in every Wednesday since he started coming to these things. Routine is another one of those “things” Michael says he shouldn’t worry so much about, he supposes. He heads towards him, but before he gets more than halfway across the circle, the group leader Michael clears his throat and asks if Dean could please take a seat so he could continue.

 

Dean scowls heavily but stalks back toward one of the empty chairs on the other side of the circle, making sure there is a buffer of at least one empty chair between him and the other people.

 

As usual, he pays no attention to Michael as he welcomes everyone, reiterates the last thing they worked on together, and then encourages everyone to share their “victories” and “struggles” of the past week. Dean has no intention of sharing his own issues— he hasn’t spoken in front of the group since the obligatory introduction six months ago, and he doesn’t feel like breaking his streak anytime soon. He knows the next two hours of his Wednesday are going to be spent sitting here in this uncomfortable chair in this uncomfortable church basement, like always (although this time it smells suspiciously like cat piss, for some reason). His only source of entertainment is going to be himself.

 

Normally, this “entertainment” consists of counting and recounting ceiling tiles endlessly for two hours. (There are 136, by the way.) Today, though, there is a new object for him to focus on: this peculiar new guy sitting across the circle from him. He wears a handwritten name tag like the rest of them, and it simply says “Castiel.” Not in cursive, or in an overly dramatic block lettering. Dean’s always thought you could tell a lot about a person from their handwriting— because they have to make new tags every time they have a session, Dean knew that whenever Joanna was stressed her name was just written as Jo, and that if Crowley was angry with his wife again his pen strokes were heavier. Castiel's tag, though, despite the unusual name, is completely nondescript, as unimpressive and plain as handwriting can be. He can’t help but wonder if it’s on purpose— after all, this is a therapy session, and no one is ever too enthusiastic about making themselves stand out.

 

He has hair that seemingly defies gravity, sticking up in every direction, a shade of brown kind of like dark chocolate. His blue eyes, a brighter shade than Dean's ever seen in a human before, wander warily around the room, finding more interest in the blank white walls than in whatever the speaker is talking about. His clothes resemble that of a fashionably-challenged tax accountant, and his tie seems to be on backward. He leans backwards in his chair, his trench coat (who the hell even wears those now?) falling on either side of his chair. He definitely doesn’t look like he’s here of his own free will, and sure enough Dean spots a man sitting next to him. He has blond hair and is considerably short, but he bears a resemblance to Castiel nonetheless; he must be his brother. His name tag says “Gabriel M.” This time Dean is slightly comforted by the fact that his script is easily dissected; the “e” and “l” of his name are wide and open, his writing slants to the right, and it’s large enough to take up the entire tag, all signs of an open, friendly, boisterous personality. He takes this as a good sign.

 

Gabriel’s gaze keeps shifting over to Castiel, and he nudges him once or twice in an attempt to direct his attention back to whoever is sharing, but he inevitably returns to his own thoughts each time. No doubt Gabriel dragged him to this meaning, and Dean finds that he can relate. His own brother literally hauls him to these meetings every single time, dropping him off and picking him up to make sure he doesn’t skip. Although Dean could technically get out of it if he really tried, he follows along to appease his brother, and even though Sam has actually stopped going inside and sitting next to him, he knows that Sam expects him to sit and listen the entire time, every Wednesday. He’s younger than Dean but significantly taller and also pre-law, and is therefore intimidating enough that Dean isn’t too excited by the thought of angering him.

 

So far he hasn’t learned anything from these sessions; no spontaneous moments of personal revelation or anything. His condition hasn’t improved in the slightest, either. This meeting is no exception, save for the mild interest he’s developed in this Castiel guy. He isn’t sure what exactly intrigues him so much; Dean's kept to himself since the war, not attempting to cultivate friendships or relationships of any sort. The only people he ever talks to anymore are Sam and his boss, Bobby. And that’s perfectly fine with him, although after the last couple incidents, Sam is slightly concerned with his mental wellbeing, hence the trips to the group therapy sessions.

 

When the meeting finally ends, everyone stands up and gathers their various paraphernalia. Most of them begin to file out the door, while a few of them stay behind to chat with each other (or in one lady’s case, an imaginary friend this group has yet to cure her of). Dean takes one last glance at Castiel as he leaves— and is surprised to find him staring back. He holds Dean's gaze stoically for a moment, but before he can say anything Castiel turns around and follows Gabriel out. Dean stands in shock for a moment before leaving as well, but by the time he reaches the parking lot Castiel and his brother have disappeared.

 

He returns to the house he shares with Sam that night (after the first incident, Sam insisted Dean live with him so he could keep an eye on him) and finds himself unable to stop thinking about Castiel, with his piercing blue eyes and his nondescript handwriting and his mysterious behavior in general. He grabs a ginger ale from the fridge (his drink of choice now that his brother has encouraged (i.e., threatened) him to stop drinking), plops onto the couch, and flips the TV to a random late-night talk show, only half paying attention to it as he tries (and fails) to stop thinking so much about the guy who stole his chair.

 

\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/

 

Dean wakes up the next morning to find he left the TV on, and it’s now showing some ridiculous reality show about British nannies or something. As he presses the button on the remote to turn it off, he hopes that he hasn’t run up the electricity bill too much— his job at the local auto shop may be everything he aspires for in a career, but it doesn’t pay that well and the last thing Dean needs at the moment is to be unable to pay his brother rent. Sam hates it when Dean insists, seeing as Sam was the one who invited him to stay in the first place, but Dean at least wants to pitch in for the groceries.

 

He goes about the rest of his day as he normally would: taking a shower before heading off to work at the shop from eight till five, returning home to leftover pizza and a ginger ale, watching his favorite movie The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly (Clint Eastwood is basically a god, plus the soundtrack is badass), falling asleep on the couch, and then repeating it all the next day.

 

This cycle goes on for a week until after what seems like an agonizingly long six days it’s Wednesday again, and for maybe the first time since he started attending group he’s actually looking forward to going— even if it is just for the new guy.

 

He’s only ten minutes late (a new record), and when he sees Castiel sitting in his chair again he isn’t sure if he’s relieved or irritated. Really, he isn’t sure why he cares so much. It is just a chair. ( _His_ chair, he adds stubbornly.) He shakes his head at himself and sits once again on the other side of the circle.

 

Dean can’t help but notice that distinct lack of a specific brotherly individual sitting next to Castiel, and he wonders if Gabriel has trusted him enough to attend on his own or if he’s waiting in the parking lot. Probably the latter— it’s likely he has a similar relationship with his brother to what Dean does with Sam: _I’m your sibling! I’m doing this for your own good, you need this experience, it will help you_ , etc. He wonders why it is that Castiel is here, anyway. He hasn’t shared anything yet, although this is only his second attendance. This is Dean’s eighteenth and he still has yet to explain himself. He prefers to (half) listen to others’ sob stories rather than offer up his own for psychological analysis.

 

Michael is the man who runs those psychological analyses, prompting them all to share their struggles, and even cry about it sometimes if they feel like it. Dean is mildly impressed by how even after four and a half months they all still have so much emotional baggage to impose on everyone else.

 

After he finishes recounting the ceiling tiles once again, he starts to listen to a few people’s stories. Crowley, always sharply dressed in a suit, talks about how his drinking is affecting his marriage as well as his relationship with his mentally disabled twelve-year-old daughter; a blond guy in his forties (who is sitting across the circle from Dean, so he can’t quite ever see the name tag… Balthazar, maybe) rants about how his wife drives him crazy and he wishes she would just shut up (even though his wife died in a car accident three years ago).

 

Something is wrong with every single person in this circle: depression, mostly, with some scattered schizophrenia, delusions, and PTSD, like Dean. Everybody’s got something that isn’t right in their head.

 

Dean wonders what it is for Castiel.


	2. Chapter 2

Dean’s curiosity is overwhelming, and that night he barely gets any sleep. When he’s so tired that he calls in sick to the auto shop (something he hasn’t done since his last hangover), his boss Bobby immediately asks if he’s started drinking again. His concern is more of the fatherly sort than the business sort, because Dean’s almost known him longer than he’s known Sam.

 

Dean assures Bobby that really, he’s fine, and he just needs a day off to rest a bit. As soon as Bobby is convinced and hangs up the phone, Dean immediately redials it to call Sam.

 

“Hey Dean, what’s up?” he answers.

 

“Are you busy?” Dean asks, and Sam’s tone changes as he hears the urgency in his brother’s voice.

 

“Just doing some homework for class,” he says warily. “What’s going on? Are you okay?”

 

“Relax, Sam, I’m fine,” he says. “I just need your help.”

 

“Um…” Sam sounds utterly confused, and for good reason. Dean asking Sam to help him with something doesn’t happen often. “What do you want me to do?”

 

“Well, I met this guy…” he begins, but then realizing what he’s just said he amends it before Sam can comment. “Not like that! I mean…” He sighs. “It’s kind of hard to explain. His name is Castiel. I don’t know his last name, or really anything, but that's a weird name, right?"

 

“And?” Sam inquires. “What do you want me to do about it? Find out where he lives so you can stalk the poor guy? No way, Dean.”

 

“No!” Dean exclaims. “I met him at group, and I just want to see if anybody knows anything about him.”

 

Dean can almost see the bitch face when Sam replies, “Why can’t you just wait until next Wednesday and ask him yourself?”

 

Dean rolls his eyes. “He doesn’t talk. Anyway, you don’t need to go all NSA on him. He has a brother named Gabriel, last name starts with an M. He goes to Stanford too, so I thought—”

 

“No way,” Sam interrupts suddenly. “Gabriel Milton? Blond and freakishly short? And his brother's name is Castiel? Castiel Milton?”

 

“Um… I guess?”

 

“He’s in my Lit class,” Sam declares. “And there are plenty of rumors around campus about the Milton family. I’ve heard Castiel's kind of weird.”

 

“Wonderful,” Dean deadpans. “I know. Like I said, I met him at group.”

 

“Right,” Sam says, suppressed laughter obvious in his voice. “Who needs online dating when you have therapy sessions every week?”

 

“Shut up,” Dean retorts. “I don’t even know him yet.”

 

“Yet!” Sam shouts in triumph. “You said yet! That means—”

 

Dean rolls his eyes and hangs up.

 

He finds himself contemplating, as he falls asleep on the couch, why exactly it is he seems to suddenly care about this guy he still hasn’t actually met, but he’s too tired to think about it now. By the time he wakes up around breakfast, he’s completely forgotten why it matters.

 

\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/

 

A week later, Wednesday rolls around once again, and Dean finds himself looking forward to the session. Sam takes this as a sign of progress— even though he knows that it’s just because of Dean’s curiosity about Castiel.

 

Sam drops him off at the entrance to the church, promises to return in two hours, and then winks as he drives off. Dean resists the urge to pick up one of the rocks from the gravel parking lot and chuck it at his brother— he doesn’t want to risk scratching up the new paint job on the car.

 

When Dean walks into the basement (six minutes late), Castiel isn’t there.

 

He takes the opportunity to sit down in his chair once again (and it's just as great as he remembers), then waits for Castiel to walk in late and sit in his own goddamn chair for once.

 

He doesn’t.

 

The meeting seems to drag on even more torturously slowly than usual, and the entire time Dean is worried that it’s his fault—Castiel didn’t like him, and now he’d never get a chance to be properly introduced to him, despite how unrealistic it is. (That’s another one of Michael’s “things”: “ _You might make mistakes, Dean, but not everything that goes wrong is your fault, it’s not like you started the apocalypse_ ,” etc.) Dean finds himself wondering again why he cares, but he just tells himself it’s his instinct to want to help people. The same reason he took care of Sammy, did a tour in Afghanistan, donated to that orphanage one time. That’s all this is.

 

His preoccupation with the quiet, blue-eyed addition to the group begins to seep into other areas of his life as well: Bobby tells him a few times over the next week he looks distracted, and every time he talks to Sam, whether he’s home for the weekend or back at Stanford, he can hear the concern in his brother’s voice. Dean knows that if he could just have a bit of information about Castiel, why he’s here, then he’d be alright. It’s all of this _not knowing_ that's killing him.

 

He very much wants to drink a beer, or two, or five right now. He regrets his decision to stop drinking alcohol immensely, and instead just buries his head into the pillows on his couch, attempting to fall asleep and failing.

 

\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/

 

Dean is relieved to find Castiel there when he arrives the next Wednesday, once again sitting in Dean's chair. He has the sudden desire to talk to him, to introduce himself properly and make sure he’s alright. Maybe this time he’ll actually have the resolve to start a conversation with him. It isn’t that he’s nervous, just… He doesn’t know if it would be a good idea. Talking to people in general hasn’t always ended well for him.

 

He begins to walk in Castiel's direction when Michael once again interrupts by calling for everyone’s attention and for them to take their seats. Dean scowls, but obliges. Maybe it’s a sign, he thinks with a sigh. He begins to tune out Michael until he says something that redirects Dean’s attention straight back to him.

 

“I’ve decided we’re going to take a new approach today,” Michael declares. “Because much of the healing process is based on trust, and many of you are still struggling in that area, I have devised a system of accountability partners.”

 

There are a few murmurs around the circle as people take in what he’s said, but Dean has to physically restrain himself from groaning out loud. Across the circle, he sees Castiel go pale as well, and he feels a flicker of sympathy for the guy. While everyone else here has been attending for months and at least gotten a chance to get to know each other a bit, this is only his third meeting. He feels sorry for him, knowing that most of the people here are, well, unstable. Whichever one he gets stuck with most likely wouldn’t want to do anything to help him. Why the hell did Michael think this would be a good idea?

 

“I’ve paired you together based on the things I think you each need to improve, and by who I think can help you improve them the fastest and easiest.” Michael says with a (kind of creepy) smile. He then requests that, as he calls out the names, the pairs would sit next to each other, introduce themselves, and maybe make some small talk. Nothing big, as this was only the beginning of a month-long process, but Dean is already viewing it with trepidation.

 

Michael begins to read the names out loud, and the list of prospective partners for Dean begins to dwindle. He listens for Castiel's name too, and gets increasingly worried as his name isn’t called either.

 

They are not the last pair that Michael reads, but after that Dean stops paying attention. “Castiel Milton and Dean Winchester,” he says, and then lists off three more pairs before wishing them all luck.

 

All of the other pairs have moved to sit next to each other, but Dean is frozen in his seat and Castiel looks terrified, staring down at his shoes with wide eyes.

 

Michael clears his throat, and when Dean looks at him he gives a pointed nod in Castiel’s direction before returning to reading a magazine he grabs from his desk. Dean hesitantly stands up, praying silently to a god he hasn’t given a second thought to in years, and makes his way to the empty seat beside Castiel.

 

He sits down next to him silently, looking at his feet as well. Castiel doesn’t look at him or say hello, but he also doesn’t run away or shout at him, which Dean takes as a good sign.

 

Finally, he takes a deep breath and says, “I’m Dean.”

 

“I know,” Castiel says to his tie.

 

“Right,” Dean says slowly. “Name tags. And you’re Castiel.”

 

“Just Cas is fine.”

 

"Cas," Dean repeats. "Okay." There’s an awkward silence for a moment, until Dean says, “I think this whole accountability thing is dumb. It’s not like within the next month we’ll actually be close enough friends to divulge our deepest secrets to each other, and besides, it’s unfair. You’re new, so you don’t know anything about me yet.”

 

“I have a feeling none of them do, either,” Cas says, glancing at the other members of the circle, who are now engaging in meaningless chatter as Michael instructed. At Dean’s confused frown, he continues, “I mean, both times I’ve been here you haven’t volunteered any information about yourself at all. You don’t even seem to pay attention. I doubt that even if I had been attending these as long as the rest of them have I would know any more about you than I do now.”

 

“Well, you seem to know quite a bit, actually,” Dean says with a smile. “You’re pretty observant.”

 

“Yes, I suppose,” Cas shrugs.

 

Dean actually feels like this conversation might be going somewhere when Michael, the bastard, interrupts once again. He instructs them to exchange contact information and to meet with them in person at least once before the next meeting. “Introduce them to your family and friends,” he encourages.

 

Castiel frowns at the mention of relatives, and Dean finds himself curious as to why. He already knows about Gabriel, and from what he’s heard so far his brother doesn’t seem too bad.

 

After they exchange cell phone numbers (almost reluctantly on Cas' part, Dean can’t help but notice), he gives him a reassuring grin. “You know, at least one good thing came out of this whole partners thing,” he tells him, and Cas looks at him strangely as if he can’t at all think of what Dean might be referring to. “It gave me an excuse to finally talk to you. I’ve been wanting to since I saw you two weeks ago,” he explains.

 

The look of confusion on his face morphs into something resembling indifference. “Right,” he says quietly. Before Dean can ask what he means, Michael announces the session is over, and Cas stands and walks out the door before Dean gets a chance to stop him. He sits in his seat for a moment, wondering what exactly he had said that scared him off.

 

Sam picks him up that afternoon, and he doesn’t even notice that Dean looks slightly troubled. “Hey, guess what?” he says before Dean even gets a chance to close the passenger side door. “I talked to Gabriel,” he continues before Dean says anything. “And he’s coming over for dinner Friday night.”

 

“Don’t you think that relationship might be moving a bit fast?” Dean smirks as Sam rolls his eyes and drives out of the parking lot.

 

“Oh, don’t worry, we bonded over the fact that we both have brothers that are jerks,” he retorts.

 

“Bitch,” Dean says, shoving Sam’s shoulder. “Is Cas coming?”

 

“Nah, Gabriel said he had other plans. Sorry. But Gabriel’s cool; I think you’ll really like him,” Sam says with a grin.

 

“Aw, Sam’s got a crush,” Dean says in a singsong tone, and Sam punches him in the arm. Dean spends the rest of the ride home in a significantly better mood than he had started it with.


	3. Chapter 3

Friday night arrives, and Sam (being the amazing college-sophomore chef that he is) orders in pizza. Gabriel shows up at 6:00, exactly on time. He says hello to Sam, who then introduces him to Dean. He doesn’t seem like too bad of a guy, and definitely not messed up in any way (although the ones that are usually are pretty good at hiding it).

 

The pizza is delivered in 27 minutes (dashing Dean’ hopes of it being free), and Sam switches on the TV to a football game to play in the background of dinner and any accompanying conversations.

 

Sam and Gabriel discuss Stanford for a while, and Dean sits quietly, watching the game rather than awkwardly joining in a conversation he knew nothing about. His first real interaction with Gabriel comes about five minutes later, when the TV shows the home team making a touchdown.

 

“YES!” Dean suddenly shouts, at the exact same moment that Gabriel yells, “NICE!”

 

They both freeze and turn to look at each other.

 

“You like the New York Giants?” Dean asks, half-incredulous and half-excited. Living in so close to Stanford means there aren’t too many fans of anyone but the Cardinals.

 

“ _You_ like the Giants?” Gabriel replies in the same tone, and that’s pretty much all it takes for them to become friends.

 

The rest of the night consists of getting to know each other better, with Sam and Gabriel talking about the horrors of Stanford’s classes and Dean getting excited about football, with frequent bursts of enthusiasm from Gabriel.

 

Eventually, the topics of discussion move to more serious subjects. “So, you’ve met Castiel, right?” Gabriel asks him out of the blue after a particularly amazing play by the Giants. “He was talking about you when he got home from group Wednesday night.”

 

“Really?” Dean says, surprised that Cas would actually bother to mention him. “Anything in particular?”

 

“Just that you’d been paired in some sort of psychology experiment by Michael,” he says. “Also that you were kind of short, and I can’t say he was wrong.”

 

This comment make them all burst into laughter. While Dean may be a bit under the average height of an American male (and a foot under the height of Sam), he’s at least a few inches taller than Gabriel.

 

“So, what’s your story?” Gabriel asks. “I’m curious. Why are you going to that poor excuse for therapy?”

 

Dean feels like he should be offended by a personal question like that, but to be honest he stopped caring a while ago. He knows that Gabriel understands this, too, because he’s got a sibling of his own attending the same therapy. Plus, Dean knows he can trust him: he likes the Giants.

 

“Nothing really major,” he says nonchalantly, and Sam sighs. Obviously, Sam thinks it is major (of course he does— he makes Dean live in the same house as him now). “I, um, spent a couple tours over in Afghanistan. It caused some problems with the drinking… But I went completely sober six months ago, and I haven't shown any symptoms of depression in weeks,” he adds quickly. “Sam here still insists I go to a shrink, even though I’m totally fine.” He glares at his brother, who glares right back.

 

“Hmm,” Gabriel says, a thoughtful look on his face. “That’s interesting.” Interesting doesn’t really seem like the word to describe it to Dean, but he doesn’t question it. Gabriel looks like he wants to say more, but he sees the clock on the wall behind Sam and suddenly stands up. “I’d love to stay and chat, but I really have to go,” he explains hurriedly. “Cas really hates when I’m gone for too long.”

 

“Cas lives with you?” Dean asks as Gabriel puts his jacket on.

 

“Yeah,” he says. “I thought it would be best so I could keep an eye on him.” Sam gives Dean a very pointed look, which Dean very pointedly ignores. “See you guys later. Thanks for the help with Lit, Sam,”

 

“No problem,” Sam replies. “See you on Monday.”

 

Gabriel begins to head out the door, but when he gets to the threshold he turns around. “Oh, and Dean,” he says with a mischievous grin. “I heard you have to meet with your accountability partners in person this week. If you’re wondering, Cas' favorite restaurant is that Asian bistro down on 15th.” He winks, then shuts the door behind him as he leaves.

 

\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/ 

 

TOMORROW NIGHT. ACCOUNTABILITY MEETING. IN THE MOOD FOR ASIAN?

 

Dean texts Cas that night (having gotten his number from Gabriel through Sam) before he goes to sleep, despite the fact that it’s only eleven. He doesn’t expect him to answer until morning, but ten minutes later he gets a reply.

 

CAN’T, SORRY. I HAVE PLANS. MONDAY?

 

He’s surprised (although he knows he really shouldn’t be) by the fact that he has plans not only tonight but the next as well. He supposes it isn’t odd for a guy in his early twenties to go out on weekend nights, but he’d assumed that… Well, just because he has no social life doesn’t mean that all people who attend therapy are the same.

 

WORKS FOR ME.

 

He finds himself restless for all of Saturday and Sunday, and is relieved when Monday finally shows up after what seems like at least a week.

 

Dean meets Cas at The Bamboo Shoot at 11:30 for lunch. He arrives earlier than Dean does (although this time Dean isn’t late— he makes sure to arrive on time, and it’s the first time he’s cared about punctuality in years). He wears the same coat and suit he always wears to group, inappropriate for the warm June weather, and his hair in its perpetually sleep-mussed state. However, Dean is surprised by his appearance; at the therapy sessions he always looks so tired and unhappy. Here, in the sunlight, reading a novel at a patio table at his favorite restaurant, he looks almost… cheerful.

 

“Hey, Cas,” he says as he slips into the seat at the table across from him. He’s already got an iced tea in front of him, but no food yet, hopefully meaning he hasn’t been waiting for Dean too long.

 

“Hello," he says back. He puts the book he’s holding inside a shoulder bag that hangs off the back of his chair. He doesn’t attempt to make anymore conversation, so Dean feels obligated to fill the silence.

 

“So, um,” he begins eloquently. “Did you have fun Saturday night?”

 

He stirs a packet of sugar into his iced tea and looks at Dean strangely. “Should I have?” he asks slowly.

 

Dean looks down, embarrassed. “Sorry, it’s just… you said you couldn’t meet on Saturday because you had plans. I assumed those plans meant you were going out with friends, or… girlfriends.” He studies the tabletop intently.

 

To his surprise, instead of getting angry at him(or running away again), Cas laughs.

 

It’s not a true laugh, the kind one would produce if they were being tickled mercilessly or heard the funniest joke of their lives; it’s more of a scoff. Dean still thinks it counts, though, if only so that he can say he’s heard Cas laugh at all.

 

“No,” he says. “I wasn’t out with friends, or girlfriends. I don’t have either.”

 

He looks back up at her, taken aback. “You don’t have a girlfriend? Really?” He’d really just assumed a guy like him would be already taken.

 

“No,” he says nonchalantly as he dumps another sugar packet into her tea and stirs it in as well. “The whole ‘depression’ thing scares a lot of them off.”

 

“It does?” Dean grins. “Well, that explains why I never can seem to pick up chicks at the bar.”

 

Cas rolls his eyes at him, although Dean knows there is amusement behind it. “It also has to do with the fact that girls aren't really my type."

 

His grin diminishes in surprise at the offhand comment, but before he can say anything, a young teenager with a bamboo plant on her shirt walks up to them. “Hello,” she says cheerfully. “Are you ready to order?”

 

Dean doesn’t even see a menu anywhere, and he looks at Cas in a panic. “Two orders of the sushi platter, with extra rice, please,” he says, and the girl nods with a smile and walks into the restaurant to give their order to the chef.

 

“I hope you like sushi,” Cas says after the waitress is gone. “This place has some of the best in the country, and it's basically all they serve anyway.”

 

“Never had it, actually,” Dean admits with a shrug.

 

Cas gapes at him in overdramatic offense. “Never had sushi?” he exclaims. “How have you lived this long without it? You’re going to love it, I promise.”

 

Dean shrugs once again noncommittally. “So, I know it’s probably not the best subject for a date, but the whole point of this was to talk about Group…” He looks at Cas warily as he changes the subject, unsure of how he’ll react to the idea of discussing feelings. It didn’t end too well the last time, but Dean finds himself too curious about him to avoid it completely.

 

“It’s not a date,” Cas murmurs. “It’s an accountability meeting, remember? Like you said, that was the whole point.”

 

The change in his tone doesn’t go unnoticed, and neither does his slight change in posture as he pulls his arms closer to his chest or how he looks down at his iced tea once again: all of the body language signals for _this is making me uncomfortable_. Apparently he didn't realize Dean was just making a joke.

 

Mental note, Dean thinks, don’t mention dates anymore. “Right, okay,” he says quickly. “Not a date. Is there anything you want to talk about, though?”

 

“Not really…” he admits. “But I know we’re technically supposed to, so I’ll make you a deal. One story about me for one story about you, and you have to go first.”

 

Dean smiles at him. “I think that’s a great idea,” he says. “I’ll tell you what Gabriel, Sam, and I talked about Friday night if you tell me what you did on Saturday.”

 

When Cas pales, Dean’ first thought is that he has crossed (yet another) line, but he can’t hold back a grin when Cas says, “You talked to Gabriel? Oh my God, what did he say?”

 

“Yeah,” Dean says, stifling his laughter. “In fact, he came over for pizza and football. Apparently he and Sam know each other from college.”

 

“No,” Cas groans, dropping his head into his hands, mortified. “I’m so sorry; he’s not the most subtle person. What did he say?”

 

“We exchanged stories about annoying siblings, talked about the horrors of group therapy, the usual. He asked Sam for some homework help,” he explains.

 

He thought that this would make Cas feel at least a bit better, but he just groans again. “Did he say anything about me?” Suddenly, he gasps and sits straight up. “Did he tell you about the pickle unicorn?”

 

Dean almost laughs, but his tone is so menacing and honestly kind of scary that he just shakes his head quickly. “Nope,” he says. “Nothing about pickles, or unicorns.”

 

Cas sighs in relief. “Oh, good. Sorry, it’s just… I was sixteen, okay? And I saw it at the fair and I…” He trails off at the expression of confusion, amusement, and terror on Dean's face. “Never mind. Is that all you talked about?”

 

“We discussed football strategy for the Giants a bit,” he says. “But that’s basically it, yeah.”

 

“You like the Giants?” he asks in surprise. “Gabriel’s been looking for someone to fangirl over them with him forever. Sorry, I don’t think you understand what you’ve gotten yourself into. Not even I can help you now,” he says ominously.

 

“You know, you’re actually really funny, Cas,” he says. “I never would have thought.”

 

“Because I go to therapy? Because I’m depressed?” he asks, his joking tone disappearing instantly (and that’s another thing Dean has noticed: Cas’ mood seems really easily swayed).

 

“Well, I didn’t mean—” Dean tries to explain, but Cas cuts him off.

 

“No, it’s fine,” he says. “It’s not offensive to me anymore. In fact, that leads right up to our next subject: what I did on Saturday night.”

 

Dean waits patiently as he takes a deep breath. He wants to encourage Cas, but he knows that any interference at this point may make him change his mind and decide not to tell Dean after all; God knows Dean’s done it plenty of times himself.

 

“I said I wasn’t visiting friends, and I didn’t really lie. She’s more of an… unfortunate mandatory acquaintance.”

 

Dean looks at him in confusion, and he elaborates. “A psychiatrist,” he explains quietly. “I see my psychiatrist every Friday and Saturday, on top of the group therapies on Wednesdays, plus once every other month I visit a high-end therapist in New York. So, basically I’m a lot of work.” He looks up at him as if expecting Dean to change his mind about this whole partner thing (like he could if he wanted to, which he doesn’t), or maybe run away screaming.

 

Instead he says, with a straight face, “A psychiatrist? Thank God. I thought you were going to say you were doing drugs and crashing raves or something.”

 

Cas smiles at him, actually smiles, and says, “Oh, well, I did that too,” and they laugh.

 

The waitress returns with their sushi, and Cas devours his like he hasn’t eaten in a week, while Dean takes one bite and has to refrain from spewing it all over him.

 

They spend the rest of their date— accountability meeting laughing and talking about the shallowest things and having the most fun either of them have had in a while.

 

It doesn’t really last long.


	4. Chapter 4

Life continues on in the same way for the next three weeks: they meet each other for lunch, either at the bistro or the bar down the street (Ellen’s Roadhouse, Dean’s favorite, and although he no longer orders alcoholic drinks, the bacon cheeseburgers are to die for) and talk about their lives. Dean tells stories about him and Sam when they were younger, when they were all still a happy family. He tells Cas some things that even Sam doesn’t know— how he still misses his dad sometimes, despite himself. Dean talks, and Cas listens. He notices that Cas doesn’t share much after the first day, but he chalks it up to the fact that he’s still a little nervous. This is completely understandable, of course. Whatever his back story, it most likely involved the development of some pretty serious trust issues.

 

Dean thinks that their relationship is progressing, though, slowly but surely. Maybe they even have a chance at becoming real friends.

 

That is, until the last day of accountability. Cas shows up to the meeting, where Michael congratulates them all on their persistence, patience, and bravery, and encourages them all to continue the partnerships outside of group, although it will no longer be mandatory. Dean thinks it might be nice to continue his little routine with Cas. He looks forward to seeing him as the highlight of every week.

 

He spends most of the meeting trying to build up the courage to actually tell him this, which is odd considering he’s spent the last month basically baring his soul to him. He should be comfortable with what is essentially asking him out on a (real) date (or perhaps multiple dates, depending). Michael announces the end of the meeting (which for once comes much too soon for Dean’s liking, as he’s still not quite ready).

 

He finally takes a deep breath, stands up, and begins to elbow his way through all the other people in the crowded room, who apparently all decided today was a good day to mill about specifically to get in Dean’s way. He forces his way towards the head of messy hair in front of him, but a hand on his elbow stops him.

 

“Hey, man,” the voice of the blond-haired man— Balthazar— from so many meetings ago says loudly. “Some of us are going to the Roadhouse tonight to grab some drinks, have a little fun. You wanna come with us?”

 

Dean pries Balthazar’s hand off of his arm and declines less politely than he normally would, but he blames it on the adrenaline in anticipation of Cas' reaction. He’s not even sure if he’ll actually realize Dean’s asking him out on a real date, and if he does, the last time he brought up romantic relationships…

 

He turns back around to find that Cas is nowhere to be found; Cas is already out the door and driving off back to his and Gabriel’s house. Dean frowns, unsure of why he would leave without at least waving goodbye (as he had started doing after their first accountability meeting), but perhaps he had and Dean had simply missed it while he was shaking off Balthazar.

 

He sighs in disappointment and heads out to the parking lot, slumping down into the passenger seat of Sam’s waiting car, and doesn’t say a word the entire drive home.

 

\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/ 

 

Dean calls Cas that night to see if he’d like to meet again for lunch that Thursday, but Cas doesn’t answer or reply to the message he leaves. He wonders briefly if he’s done something to scare him off or anger him, but can’t think of anything.

 

Dean calls him every day that week, with no replies at all. He gets increasingly worried when he doesn’t show up to the next group meeting, and still he doesn’t call him back. Sam calls Gabriel, whose voicemail says he’s on a business trip in Eastern Asia and will call back when he returns in two months, an excursion he hadn’t informed either of them he would be taking.

 

Dean lives through the rest of the day in misery, worried sick about Cas. If Gabriel was in Japan or wherever, there was no one to watch over Cas and make sure he was okay. Gabriel wouldn’t leave him there if he didn’t think he would be fine, though, would he? Dean leaves at least one hundred messages on his phone, until at last he just hangs up when he hears his voice start to say, “You've reached Castiel Milton. Please leave a message." A recording that doesn’t truly reveal anything about him, just like his name tag on the very first day.

 

He lies in bed that night, unable to sleep. Sam went to bed hours ago, after grilling his college buddies for information on Cas' potential situation results only in dead ends. In fact, Dean has pretty much resolved to visit Cas' house in the morning, to see if he’s even still alive, when his phone starts to ring from the bedside table.

 

Dean knows before he even looks at the screen. He nearly launches himself at the table and answers. “Hello?” he says, somewhat breathlessly. “Cas? Where the hell have you been?”

 

The voice that answers isn’t the indignant, defensive Cas that Dean expects, but rather a sound that makes his blood run cold. “Dean,” Cas says, his voice only a whisper, but he can still hear the roughness in it, like he’s been crying. “Dean, I need help. Please. Can you come get me?”

 

“Cas?” he says, immediately sitting straight up. “What’s wrong? What happened? Where are you?” The questions are so rapidly fired off that Dean isn’t sure he’ll understand him.

 

“Uh,” he says, before a Dean hears his voice crack over the phone line. There’s a moment where the only sound is his shaky breathing, but he takes a rattling breath and says, “I’m in my bedroom. At the house.”

 

“Are you okay?” Dean demands, knowing that it’s an idiotic question but unable to stop himself.

 

“No,” he says softly. “No, I’m not. Please, I don’t know what to do…”

 

“Okay,” he says, trying not to fall into the tight grip of the panic looming right next to him. “I’ll be there in ten minutes. Keep talking to me, Cas. What’s going on? What happened?”

 

“Oh God, Dean,” he says quietly. “I’m so sorry. I just tried to kill myself.”

 

Dean's phone slips out of his hand and lands on the floor with a thump.


	5. Chapter 5

He slips on the first pair of shoes he can see, cheap black flip-flops, and grabs Sam’s keys. He doesn’t bother to try to stay quiet as he jams the keys into the car and peals out of the driveway towards Cas' house, and he hopes to God there aren’t any policemen out this late (early?) at night, because he’s driving at least twenty miles an hour over the speed limit.

 

He pulls up into the driveway of Gabriel’s house— mansion, really— and runs up to the front door without bothering to even turn off the car. It takes him a moment to find his bedroom (this house is enormous), but when he climbs the staircase he can hear Cas groaning in pain somewhere down the hall. He throws open the door and the sight he sees makes his stomach churn and his heart break.

 

Cas is curled up in the corner between a plush white armchair and the bedside table, his knees pulled up to his chest and his head buried in his arms, and blood— oh, God, the blood.

 

It is terrifying and sickening and paralyzing and horrible and everywhere it is everywhere all over his arms and hands and clothes and the floor and God what should he do he doesn’t know what to do and— _deep breath_. He knows he needs to calm down or he won’t be of any help to Cas at all.

 

Dean can see that Cas has pulled the sheets from his bed to himself and sort of wrapped them around his arms as impromptu bandages. His cell phone lies on the floor next to him, cracked, like it slipped out of his hand too. The thought petrifies Dean, because what if he’s unconscious now, or worse—

 

Cas is shaking visibly; not just his shoulders from the crying but his entire body, from his feet to his arms to his head. When Dean notices this, he only feels relief: at least that means he’s not dead (yet).

 

He runs to him and crouches next to him, ignoring the blood that begins to seep into the knees of his jeans. “Cas," he says, "Cas, can you hear me? Cas, say something, please Castiel, anything, please…”

 

He looks up, but he doesn’t say anything. He only stares at Dean, begging him silently to help.

 

Dean lets out a loud stream of curses as he fumbles to pull his cell phone out of his pocket— only to realize that it’s still lying on the floor at his house. A dash of hope enters his mind as he picks up Cas' phone from the floor— it may be cracked but perhaps it still works, please work— but it disappears when the screen stays black. From what he could tell, there were no landlines in this house either (stupid modern trends— who the hell doesn’t have a landline?) No calling an ambulance, then.

 

He gathers Cas up in his arms (as best he can, since Cas isn't exactly small) and takes him downstairs out to his car, laying him out across the backseat, sheet-bandages and all. He straps a seatbelt across his torso, even knowing it really isn’t going to do much at this point. There’s a hospital not five miles from here, but as Dean begins to drive (speeding, again), they seem like the longest five miles in the world.

 

He keeps trying to talk to Cas, but the only response he gets from him is the occasional moan or the chattering of teeth. Dean knows that he’s in horrible condition, and that even if he manages to make it to the hospital there isn’t going to be much they can do…

 

As soon as they arrive at the hospital, Dean pulls Cas out of the car and holds him in his arms as he runs into the ER wing. A medical team immediately takes him from Dean and places him on a stretcher, pulling an oxygen mask onto his face that makes Cas look strange and alien to Dean.

He is wheeled away from him, and when he tries to follow the doctors stop him, telling him he has to stay in the waiting room. When he tries to explain to them that Cas tried to kill himself, they begin to question him: Does Cas have any allergies? When was the last time he ate? Does he have any pre-existing medical conditions or history of attempt of self-harm? Who are you to him? Are there any family members we need to contact?

 

The last question is the only one he finds himself able to answer as he tells them Gabriel’s name and phone number, but that he’s away on business. The doctors begin to disperse, and they tell him they’ll be back as soon as they know the extent of Cas' condition.

 

Dean finds himself standing in the waiting room. Because it’s after two in the morning, only one other family sitting on the other side of the room, trying not to stare at him. He sinks down into a small, uncomfortable chair, and rather than try to read a Cosmo issue from two months ago, he simply holds his head in his hands and silently lets the stress overwhelm him.

 

\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/

 

Dean must fall asleep, because he is awoken by a female nurse shaking his shoulder. “Mr. Winchester?” she says quietly.

 

As soon as he recognizes her as one of the nurses that took Cas away on the stretcher, he jolts completely awake, staring at her in anticipation of the news she bears. He can’t tell if it’s good or bad from her facial expression, which is infuriatingly unreadable from years of practice of breaking the news to family members.

 

She opens her mouth to tell him, and he prepares himself for the two most horrifying and life changing words in the English language (he’s dead) but instead he hears, “He’s stable and awake, and he’s been asking for you.” Dean breathes out the biggest sigh of relief in his life and follows the nurse to Cas' room.

 

He sits up in the hospital bed, looking pale and thin and generally awful, but alive and actually smiling at him, which is a first. Dean enters the room, and the nurse gives him a reassuring smile before closing the door behind him. His legs feel more like Jell-O than flesh and bone, to the point where as soon as he reaches the bed he has to sit down in the chair beside it.

 

Dean tries to speak but discovers that he can’t find the words, and his throat suddenly seems dry. Cas doesn’t say anything at first either, just reaches out to place his hand on Dean's. Dean wants to take this as a good sign, but he sees the stitches that criss-cross across Cas' wrist like railroad tracks, and the IV needle stuck in the back of his hand, and all he can do is keep himself from crying again.

 

“I’m so sorry, Cas,” he whispers quietly, unable to look him in the eye. “I’m sorry,”

 

“No,” he tells him. “You saved my life. I’m the one who caused this whole mess.” Dean looks up at him then, and Cas' smile is gone, replaced with eyes full of sadness. “I can’t believe I survived it…” he trails off quietly. “What did Gabriel say?” he asks suddenly.

 

“I don’t know,” Dean replies. “They never told me—”

 

A ring from the hospital telephone on the bedside table interrupts him, and when he answers it the first thing he hears is, “Castiel, oh my God, what the hell did you do?”

 

“Um, this is Dean,” he says quickly. “Hang on, I’ll give you to Cas.” When he passes him the phone, Cas gives him a questioning look, but he just holds it out to him.

 

“Hello?” he answers, and the yelling that proceeds is heard loud and clear even by Dean, who is three feet away from the speaker. Cas winces at the sound, and when it finally recedes he says, “Good to hear your voice too, Gabe.”

 

Gabriel calms down significantly, to where the only parts of the conversation Dean hears are snippets like, “I’m so glad—” “Why would you—” “—second—” “—could have died—” and all Cas does is interject a few “I’m sorry”s and “I know”s.

 

Eventually, Cas says goodbye, but instead of hanging up he passes it back to Dean. “He wants to talk to you,” he says.

 

Dean hesitantly takes the receiver from her, expecting Gabriel to start yelling at him as well for not protecting his little brother, but Gabriel just says, “Thank you, Dean. If you hadn’t shown up, he would have died. I can’t even begin to say how grateful I am.”

 

Uncomfortable with the gratitude, something he hasn’t ever really received much of, Dean just says, “I did what anyone would have done, really.”

 

“I never should have left,” he says, part sad and part angry at himself. “He told me he’d be okay, and I just believed him—”

 

“Hey,” Dean interjects. “Don’t go blaming this on yourself. This isn’t the point where anybody should be blaming anybody. If anything, I should have started looking for him sooner. There are things we both maybe should have done differently, but we didn’t, and so now we have to focus on what’s next rather than what’s already happened,” he says sternly, and it kind of shocks him that it came out of his own mouth.

 

“You’re right,” Gabriel sighs loudly. “I’m coming home on the next flight, so make sure—”

 

Cas hears that part from his seat in the bed, and he grabs the phone from Dean. “You still have four weeks in Japan!” he exclaims. “What happened to this being ‘the most important business meeting in human history’? You could lose your job if you come home now.”

 

“But Cas…”

 

“I will be completely fine, because Dean and Sam aren’t going to let me out of their sight,” he declares, with a pointed look in Dean’s direction. “They’ll take care of me, I promise, Gabriel. We’ll call you every night. Just… stay in Tokyo, okay?”

 

Dean can’t hear the reply, but it is apparently satisfactory because Cas' mouth curves up in a tiny smile and he puts the phone back on the holder.

 

He looks back over at Dean. “I hope that was okay,” he says sheepishly. “But I figured it was a safe bet that you weren’t going to just leave.”

 

“Oh, no,” Dean says. “I’m not taking my eyes off you for a second.”

 

Cas laughs: a quiet, small sound, but a real laugh this time, his eyes lighting up. “And Sam won’t either. I’m surprised he isn’t here yet, actually. Did you give him the right room number?” he asks innocently.

 

Dean stares at him for a moment before he mutters, “Damn it,” and grabs the phone again.


	6. Chapter 6

Sam arrives twenty minutes later (because Dean stole the car, and therefore Sam had to wait for a cab), completely furious at Dean, worried for Cas, and generally flustered at everything.

 

“God, Dean!” he exclaims. “I woke up and you were gone and you left your phone at home! I thought you were… that you were drinking or dead or something!” Before Dean can begin to apologize or defend himself, his little brother pulls him into a giant hug (literally giant, as Sam is unnaturally huge). “Just… call sooner next time, okay?”

 

Dean promises, and then Sam goes over to talk to Cas. While they talk about if he's all right, what happened, etc., Dean goes down the hall to the right to pay a visit to the vending machine. He’s starving, and he figures Sam and Cas are too. He fishes loose change out of his pocket and comes up with just enough for a water bottle and a bag of baked chips. Not nearly unhealthy enough for him, but it’ll have to do for now. Maybe Sam remembered his wallet so they could all eat real food later.

 

He returns to the hospital room to find that, in the two minutes he was gone, Cas has managed to fall asleep and Sam is texting someone on his phone.

 

Dean walks in and hands the water bottle (which he’s already chugged half of) to his brother and sits down on the end of Cas' bed.

 

“Thanks,” Sam whispers as he untwists the cap and downs the rest of the bottle. When he’s finished, he says, “I was texting Gabe, and he said that he still wants to come back to see Cas.”

 

“Well, tell him he should stay. According to Cas, this meeting thing is a huge deal in the corporate world, and he basically implied he’d slice Gabe in half if he came back early. Cas’ll be fine; he’s got us right? And wait— Gabe? You guys are already to the nickname stage?” Dean whispers back, smirking.

 

The color of red that Sam’s face turns nearly rivals a tomato, and Dean has to bite his tongue to keep from laughing out loud and waking up the sleeping patient beside him.

 

“Anyway,” Sam quickly changes the subject. “The nurses said they want to keep him under surveillance for at least 72 hours, and they want a psychiatrist to take a look at him. If they think he’s okay after that, he’ll be discharged.”

 

“Just like that? Really?” Dean asked, surprised. It seemed a lot more dramatic in movies, where people sliced open their wrists and bled out immediately or at least required multiple blood transfusions.

 

“Yep,” Sam said. “He did bleed a lot, but they don't think he needs a transfusion so he’ll be fine— physically— within a few days.”

 

Dean can’t help but notice how Sam puts the emphasis on the world physically, implying he isn’t going to be fine mentally… Not that Dean thought that after months of therapy and a suicide attempt Cas would just be okay— and he would know. He doesn’t say anything else, though, just looks over at Cas as he sleeps.

 

A quiet knock breaks the silence, making Sam jump and Dean look over at the door in alarm before it opens revealing it’s just the nurse— Jessica, as Dean finally sees her nametag says. She’s pretty cute, too. Cheerful and blond, though. Not his type. (He tries to refrain from going anywhere near the topic in his mind that his type is blue-eyed guys, specifically the ones named Castiel.)

 

Jessica walks in, and quietly says, “Are you Dean?” and, when he nods, “I need to talk to you. In the hall, please.” And she walks out, leaving Dean without much of a choice but to follow.

 

He sends a confused look to Sam, who shrugs, and then goes after the nurse.

 

“We tried to get ahold of Gabriel Milton again, but he’s stopped answering his phone, so I’m going to need to ask a few questions. Is this the first time this has happened?” she asks when she’s closed the door gently behind them. “That Cas has committed self-harm or attempted suicide?”

 

“I think so,” he says slowly. “He’s never said anything about it before. He does go to therapy sessions, though, and he visits a psychiatrist,” he adds.

 

“Alright,” Jessica says, her expression and tone of concern unwavering, meaning she doesn’t think of Cas any differently after this revelation. The thought comforts Dean somewhat, for some reason. “Do you know what he was diagnosed with?”

 

“He never told me exactly,” he admits. “But my guess would be depression.”

 

“Okay,” she says. “Since he doesn’t have a history, we’ll keep him under watch for a few days, just to make sure. His injuries should heal within a few weeks, and the stitches will dissolve. There will be scars, though,” she says, a bit more darkly than the rest of her statements have been, and Dean can tell she means more than just the marks on Cas' skin.

 

“Is that all?” he says, and she nods.

 

“Yes, thank you. I’ll come back in…” she checks her watch. “About two hours to check on him. Visiting hours are technically over…” She trails off at the look of absolute terror and pleading in his eyes. She quickly continues, “But I suppose if I just said you were asleep we wouldn’t have to wake you up.” She smiles at him warmly, and he smiles back as he darts back into the room.

 

Jessica doesn’t end up having to lie after all, because within fifteen minutes all three occupants of Room 401 are fast asleep.

 

\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/

 

Dean doesn’t leave the hospital for the next 72 hours.

 

The majority of that time is spent in Cas' room, talking about everything from the fact that the only show on the television is an awful hospital drama to the fact that Cas really wants a cheeseburger.

 

When Cas briefly mentions the latter, Dean sends Sam out to the diner down the street to pick up lunch for everyone.

 

“We’re not allowed to bring food into the hospital, Dean,” Cas reminds him.

 

“I know,” he replies with a grin, and ten minutes later they’re all eating smuggled cheeseburgers in Cas’ room, hoping Jessica doesn’t come to check on him. While she wouldn’t kick them out, she would make them throw the burgers away, and that is unacceptable.

 

Dean spends every night at the hospital, only falling asleep after he’s sure Cas won’t wake up until morning. He sends Sam home after they eat their hospital dinners, because he has classes in the mornings. Sam promises to call them when he gets a chance, and wishes Cas good luck on his psychiatrist appointment.

 

When the psychiatrist— a Dr. Tessa, not Cas' usual, but employed by the hospital— arrives, she asks Dean to leave the room, as his presence may have an effect on how Cas answers the questions.

 

He doesn’t protest, just nods solemnly and goes to wait in the hallway. The thirty-minute exam seems to take three hours, and when the doctor exits the room, Dean nearly tramples her in the doorway to get back to Cas.

 

He doesn’t seem upset, which is a good sign. He also doesn’t offer up any insight as to what he and Tessa discussed (not that he expected him to, as it’s not Dean's business, but he has to admit he’s incredibly curious). He stands in the door for a moment, and Cas doesn’t look at him.

 

Dean shuts the door behind him. “Cas,” he says softly. “We need to talk about this, you know. I tried to wait a while, till you were out, at least, but I need to know. I just…. I want to know why.”

 

Cas sighs. “I… I don’t know if I can, yet,” he says. “I know it feels like I’ve known you for years, Dean, but I haven’t. There are… a lot of things you don’t know about me.” At Dean’s look of disappointment and hurt, he adds, “There is something I need to tell you, though...” He looks nervous, like he really doesn’t want to have to do this, and Dean has to try to keep his brain from jumping to conclusions.  He continues to stare down at his hands. “Dean,” he begins quietly, and Dean doesn’t even dare to breathe. “This isn’t—”

 

The door swings open all of a sudden and Sam saunters in and pulls a small box of pizza out from under his jacket. “Quick,” he says. “I think they’re onto me. We have to eat this as fast as possible to get rid of the evidence!” He seems oblivious to the fact that he has interrupted anything.

 

Cas grins softly at the prospect of a meal that isn’t applesauce, salad, or canned soup and says, “Cheese or pepperoni?”

 

“You underestimate me,” Sam replies solemnly as he sets the box on the end of her bed and opens it up, releasing the smell of greasy cheese and burnt crust to waft through the stale hospital air. “We Winchesters take our pizza seriously: all the way, baby.”

 

Neither Cas nor Dean had eaten since their meager packaged-ham-sandwich lunch three hours earlier, so they both dive for the pizza and begin devouring it without plates or napkins.

 

“I don’t know about you,” Sam says through a mouthful of cheese and various meats and vegetables. “But this is some pretty delicious evidence.”

 

They all smile, and they can’t stop laughing when Jessica arrives ten minutes later and cannot for the life of her figure out how they managed to get tomato sauce on Cas' bed sheets.

 

Dean desperately wants to ask Cas what it was he needed to tell him, as he had looked deadly serious before Sam had barged in, but the room is occupied by Sam, Jessica, Tessa, and unfamiliar nurses throughout the rest of the day, and they don’t get another moment alone.

 

He tries not to feel upset at the fact that Cas isn’t ready to tell him yet. He thought, even though they’ve only known each other a few months, that they were friends. Maybe Cas doesn’t feel the same way. He promises himself that he will find out eventually, though, but he doesn’t have to do it today. When night falls, after Sam goes home and Cas passes out watching that hospital drama on the tiny TV, Dean finally lets himself fall asleep, too.


	7. Chapter 7

Gabriel breaks his promise two days after Cas is discharged, and he shows up at Sam’s house, his luggage still in tow as if he’d come there straight from the airport. Cas is absolutely furious with him, and while he doesn’t actually follow through with his threat to cut him in half he comes pretty damn close.

 

“Cas, you couldn’t expect me to just stay half-way across the world!”

 

“Why the hell do you treat me like a child?”

 

“You tried to kill yourself!”

 

“You’re going to get fired!”

 

“You almost died!”

 

Their shouting match goes on for about five minutes, during which Sam and Dean awkwardly stand off to the side, unsure of what to do. Eventually, though, the Milton brothers calm down, and Gabriel scoops up his younger (although not littler) brother into a giant hug that looks almost as painful as Sam’s (quite a feat for someone of his size).

 

When Gabriel finally puts him down and lets him breathe again, he turns to the Winchesters. “Thank you again, Dean,” he says. “I don’t know where we’d be right now without you. And Sam, I know you helped as well, so thank you both.” He grins at them. “Anyone up for a celebratory dinner?”

 

The four of them ride in Gabriel’s car (a gorgeous silver 2009 Ferrari, of which Dean is extremely jealous, although in the end he prefers the classics) to Ellen’s Roadhouse, and everyone gets a burger. Dean has to admit, out of every burger he’s ever eaten here, this one is the very best.

 

“Gabriel,” Sam says, as he dips a fry into a vat of ketchup. “Are you really going to get fired?”

 

He sighs. “It’s a likely possibility,” he admits. “Unfortunately, while I may be one of the best in my department, I’m more trouble than I’m worth at this point and could therefore be easily replaced by someone cheaper. But I’ll be fine,” he adds quickly as he sees the looks of despair on everyone’s faces. “Shouldn’t be too hard to get a new job if they actually do fire me. And besides, it’s not like I couldn’t afford it.”

 

It’s the truth; in fact, Gabriel’s probably rich enough that with a few strategic investments he could retire by 35.

 

“Anyone want some ginger ale?” Dean asks with a grin, and the change to a lighter subject releases the tension from the table. There are cheers of affirmation from everyone, and the waitress brings them all cans with straws. As they sit there sipping their carbonated Canada Drys, Dean feels sense of hope for the future, something he hasn’t felt in years.

 

\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/

 

Two weeks later, life has pretty much returned to normal. Cas is living with Gabriel again, although he keeps a much closer eye on him now. His weekly schedule has changed a bit: he no longer visits his old psychiatrist, Dr. Masters, every Friday and Saturday, in favor of talking to Tessa over the phone or text whenever he feels like it.

 

Instead of Wednesday group therapy sessions, both Cas and Dean agree that a much better therapy is spending the weekend at Sam’s with their siblings, eating all manners of takeout food and watching football games and Saturday Night Live.

 

One of these weekends starts out like any other: the Miltons arrive on the front porch of the Winchesters. “Hey, guys,” Dean says as he opens the door to see them standing there. “Come on in. I’ll turn on the game.”

 

Gabriel frowns and Cas laughs. “I guess Sam didn’t tell you, then?” When Dean looks confused, he elaborates, “He and Gabriel are going back to our house to, um… study for Lit class.” He grins at Gabriel, who childishly sticks out his tongue at him. “So you’re stuck with just me tonight,” he adds, grinning, to Dean, whose expression of confusion doesn’t change. “If that’s okay, I mean,” he amends. “I don’t have to stay…”

 

“No, that’s fine,” he says quickly, snapping out of his thoughts. “I just…” He turns to Gabriel. “Have fun studying.”

 

Gabriel looks like he wants to defend himself (and his honor), but at that moment the sound of a giant stomping down the stairs emanates from behind Dean, and they all look to see Sam standing there. “Hey, Gabe!” he says cheerfully. “Ready to go?”

 

Cas winks at Gabriel, who tries not to blush (and fails miserably). He just nods to Sam and rushes off towards his car.

 

“What’s with him?” Sam asks Cas.

 

“Not a clue,” he says with a giant smile, and though Sam looks at him suspiciously he doesn’t ask any more questions, just follows Gabriel out to the car.

 

As soon as he’s out of earshot, Cas whispers excitedly, “He called him Gabe!”

 

Dean grins and says, “I wonder how Sam’s going to study without any of his textbooks?” and they both burst into laughter. When they both can breathe again, Dean invites him inside. “Wanna come in? I just finished making dinner.”

 

“You made dinner?” Cas says incredulously as he walks into the kitchen. “I’m not sure if I should be impressed or scared.”

 

“Don’t worry,” Dean assures him. “It’s just a sandwich. Want one?”

 

He shakes his head. “Nah, thanks. I’m not that hungry. Big lunch. Anything on TV right now?” He crosses into the adjoining living room (which consists of a sofa, a stack of old newspapers functioning as an end table, and flat screen TV mounted to the wall), plops himself disgracefully onto the couch, and grabs the remote.

 

Dean grabs his sandwich from the counter as well as a ginger ale from the fridge and sits down next to him. “There’s a game on, but it’s just the Angels. The Giants don’t play till next Saturday.”

 

“Alright, then,” Cas says. “We’ll just have to watch a movie.” He switches the channel to Netflix (although how he knew Dean had a subscription was beyond him). He wants to tell Cas the very last thing he wants to do right now is watch some documentary on bees or something, but he figures he’s had a rough week and stays silent. “How about…ooh!” Cas exclaims excitedly as he scrolls down through the genres. “The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly! That’s one of my favorites!” He selects it, and then as it loads he leans over towards a shocked Dean. “Clint Eastwood is awesome, and the soundtrack is very impressive.” He settles back into the couch and watches as the movie begins.

 

Dean, however, finds himself unable to do anything but stare at the guy beside him.

 

Yep. It’s official: Dean Winchester is falling in love.

 

\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/

 

Another week passes, then two.

 

Cas and Gabriel still come over to Sam’s house, and they watch the Giants play. Sam and Gabriel have yet to make anything official, but Cas and Dean are sure they’ll announce their relationship any day now: the stolen glances and the stares and the hours they hide away “studying” all add up to a pretty obvious answer.

 

The next Saturday, though, the front porch remains empty. Dean is slightly disappointed, as he had been looking forward to watching the game with Gabriel (although it isn’t the Giants, so he isn’t too bummed).

 

“Hey, Sam,” he calls up the stairs. “Where’s your boyfriend?”

 

“I don’t know,” Sam calls back. “I haven’t talked to him in a couple of days.” And then, about a minute later, “Gabriel is not my boyfriend, Dean.”

 

Dean laughs at that (probably harder than he really should, but he can’t help himself). He calls Cas to see if he plans on coming a bit late, but he doesn’t answer.

 

“You've reached Castiel Milton, please leave a message."

 

At the tone, he says, “Hey, it’s me. I just wondered if you planned on coming tonight or not. I’m sure you’re caught up babysitting Gabriel or something. Tell him not to drink so much next time.”

 

He presses the button to end the message and flips on the television to watch the game, although he finds himself having a hard time paying attention. During the third quarter, Sam comes downstairs and joins him, and almost immediately notices his brother’s distraction.

 

“What’s on your mind, Dean?” he says cheekily. “Thinking about a certain someone again?” This remark earns him an elbow to the ribs, but Dean is smiling.

 

“Shut up, bitch."

 

“Jerk. You're only defensive because it's true.  Look,” his brother adds seriously, “I know you’re not a ‘talk about your feelings’ kind of guy, and I’m not either, but what you did for Cas, what you’ve been doing for him, I wanted to say… I’m really proud of you. You’ve come a long way from that dick of an alcoholic I knew two years ago.”

 

Dean sits quietly for a moment, his eyes fixated on the screen of the television but not actually watching it. He really can’t think of anything to say to that; he’s never been good with chick flick moments. “Thanks, Sammy,” he says eventually, looking down at the ginger ale in his hands.

 

“And just think,” Sam says with a smile, “I’ve been spending all this money on therapy when all you needed was a boyfriend.”

 

Dean punches his brother in the arm with the hand that isn’t holding his soda. “Shut up. He’s not my boyfriend.”

 

“Yet!” Sam interjects, and dodges when Dean tries to hit him again. “You really need to ask him out on a real date, you know.”

 

“Are you kidding?” Dean exclaims. “I can’t even remember the last time I attempted an actual relationship, but I’m sure it ended in misery. If you hadn’t noticed, I don’t have healthy functional relationships with anyone.”

 

“It’s not that bad,” Sam says. “You just have to ask him out, and then when that date goes fine you do it again. Rinse and repeat, and don’t scare him off in between.”

 

Dean rolls his eyes and laughs. “I’ll try, Sam, but only if you ask Gabriel out first.”

 

His brother flushes red and mutters something about how he suddenly remembered he had something to do upstairs as he stands and nearly runs up to his bedroom.

 

“Good night, then!” Dean calls after him with a grin. Sam’s definitely got himself a bit of a crush, but maybe Dean shouldn’t be so hard on his brother about it— after all, he’s got a pretty big one as well.

 

He turns off the TV without finishing the game, figuring he’ll actually go to bed early tonight, since he has nothing else to do but think about Cas.

 

Wow. What did he even do with his life before Cas showed up? Oh, yeah— he was a total asshole to people. Good thing he’s past that now.

 

He falls asleep that night smiling. He really does like Cas— and maybe, just maybe he believes that there is hope, for Cas and himself and the future. There’s finally hope for his life.

 

\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/

 

Dean is woken up in the middle of the night by the sound of his phone ringing. He sits up slowly, disoriented from sleep (better sleep than he’s had in quite some time, actually, so damn whoever is interrupting it). He reaches blindly towards the sound before opening his eyes and fumbling for the light from the screen.

 

He blearily rubs the sleep from his eyes and it takes him a moment to focus on the name displayed on the screen: Gabriel Milton.

 

Right next to that is the time: 4:09 in the morning. He momentarily considers letting it go to voicemail, but he’s already awake and now he feels like tearing Gabriel a new one for waking him up.

 

He swears that if Gabriel is calling because he’s drunk off his ass and needs someone to drive him home, he’s going to scream.

 

He presses the button that allows him to answer, if only to make it stop ringing, and holds it up to his ear. “It’s four in the morning, Gabriel. This had better be freaking good.”

 

It takes Gabriel so long to answer that Dean nearly hangs up, thinking that he was dialed accidentally somehow, but finally the voice on the other end says, “I’m sorry, Dean…” and immediately Dean is wide awake. Gabriel’s voice is exhausted, hoarse, and scared, and Dean isn’t sure of how to react other than confusion and a sudden sense of terrible foreboding.

 

Very slowly, Dean says, “Gabriel? What’s wrong? What happened?”

 

And he isn’t sure what he really expects Gabriel to say, but it most definitely isn’t what he hears: “It’s Cas,” Gabriel explains softly, his voice catching in his throat. "He’s… God, Dean… he’s dead.”


	8. Chapter 8

Apparently, the night before Dean was going to ask him out on their first real date, Castiel Milton committed suicide.

 

That’s all Dean hears Gabriel say, that Cas killed himself, before he shuts down. Gabriel talks some more, and when Dean stops answering his questions he calls Sam, but Dean doesn’t pay attention to any of it.

 

Sam talks to Gabriel some, tears fall from his eyes, and he coaxes Dean into the car so they can drive to Gabe’s house.

 

There are police cars in front of the house, as well as an ambulance. Gabriel stands beside it, talking to a police officer, who nods occasionally and takes notes. He walks away just as Sam and Dean arrive, and the first thing Sam does is pull Gabriel into a hug.

 

Dean stays in the car, taking in the scene around him. He doesn’t want to get out and talk to Gabriel, who has the same frown as Cas, the same mannerisms. He doesn’t want to get out and see the house, which he last saw with Cas dying in his arms. He doesn’t want to see anything that will remind him of Cas, and right now that’s everything.

 

The police ask Sam a few questions as well, presumably his relation to Cas and if he noticed anything off about him in the past few weeks. For whatever reason, they leave Dean alone.

 

That's when, out of the corner of his eye, Dean sees a familiar flash of dark hair, and he instinctively turns before he can think about the consequences. There, being hauled onto the ambulance by two paramedics in blue suits, is a stretcher. It's covered in a conspicuous bright blue tarp and from the top of it spills a handful of dark brown hair, as if the tarp had started to slip off. There's also a quick glimpse of too-pale porcelain skin before the paramedic fixes the tarp to cover the body again and closes the door to the ambulance to haul him off to the morgue.

 

The body. That was Cas' fucking _corpse._

 

The panic comes on slowly, a rising tide, but once it arrives it hits Dean full force. His hands begin to tremble, so hard that he has to clench them into tight fists to avoid hitting anything. His heart beat doubles in speed, and sweat begins to bead up along his brow. He sits in shock for a moment before he wrenches the car door open and heaves bile and the remnants of his dinner onto Gabriel's front lawn.

 

Thankfully, the action is witnessed only by a few police officers who refrain from comment— not that Dean could really care enough to feel embarrassed right now. He pulls himself fully to his feet and when he climbs back into the car, it's into the driver's seat.

 

He later tells himself that he fully intended when he pulled out of the driveway to return to Sam’s house, pack some things into a suitcase, and leave. What he really ends up doing is taking a left two stop signs past Sam’s street, making him end up in the parking lot of the Roadhouse.

 

He turns off the car, goes inside (thankful that it’s open 24 hours), sits at the bar, and orders a beer. For the first time in two years, Dean tastes alcohol.

 

He’s still sitting on his stool when Sam storms in at eight in the morning, Gabriel in tow.

 

“What the hell are you doing, Dean?” he demands, grabbing the bottle of beer (his seventh? Eighth?) from his brother’s hand and gripping it nearly tight enough to shatter it.

 

“The hell d'ya think?” Dean replies, his words slurred. “Gimme back my beer.”

 

“No!” Sam shouts, and Dean is thankful that the only other customer in the joint at the moment is an old man eating a breakfast sandwich in the corner, since his brother insists on making such a scene. “Two years, Dean. Two years of sobriety that you just threw out the window.” His tone changes from angry to disappointed, and Dean wishes he’d just go back to yelling at him. “Come on, Dean,” Sam says. “Let’s go home. Gabe, can you give me a hand?” With Gabriel’s help, Sam drags Dean into the backseat of Gabriel’s car, and to his credit Gabriel doesn't make a single comment about not throwing up on the floor of his favorite ride.

 

“But what about _my_ car?” Dean whines as his brother attempts to shove him into his seat.

 

“I’ll pick it up later, Dean. Shut up and sit down.”

 

Dean pouts— actually _pouts_ —but silently sits in the backseat. Gabriel drives them to Sam’s house, where Sam gives Dean a cup of hot, bitter coffee and an aspirin. Gabriel still sits in the small armchair against the wall, and Sam stands next to him, too anxious to sit down.

 

Dean’s brain seems like it’s attempting to crack open his skull from the inside, and he may be drunk as all hell, but he doesn’t need to be sober to realize that he’s just fucked up majorly, and that he's lucky his brother hasn't already kicked him out on his sorry ass— another point on the list of things Dean owes his brother for.

 

He sinks into the sofa, sipping his coffee with a grimace as Gabriel asks, "So, do you want to know what actually happened?" His voice is still strained, and Dean knows this isn't a story he would like to recount.

 

"No," he says, shaking his head, an action that just proceeds to make it pound. "No. I just... I mean, was there..."—he pauses, taking a deep breath to steady himself—"Did he leave a note?" He braces himself for the answer, but he's not sure which one would be worse at this point.

 

Gabriel winces at the question, and seems to try to decide what exactly he should say. Finally, he grinds out, "No. I didn't see... They didn't find anything."

 

Dean is marginally confused by the fact that Gabriel didn't “see” anything, until his alcohol-addled brain reaches the conclusion that, of course, Gabriel must have been the one to find Cas, and he can't even imagine how painful that must be. The glimpse of him covered in a tarp was enough to send Dean into a spiral of panic, revulsion, and regret. Seeing him collapsed at the scene itself, deathly pale, perhaps even with a sliver of life still in him, slowly slipping in the minutes it takes for the paramedics to arrive— no, his imagination is getting the best of him. Still, it must have been so awful. He wonders how Gabriel is holding it together. Maybe Dean could have too, if he really tried, maybe he didn't have to throw it all away—

 

Again, he stops himself. He's had too much of this fucking self-pity crap lately, and frankly he's just too drunk to deal with all the philosophical shit at the moment.

 

But Cas could have at least had the courtesy to leave them a fucking _note_.


	9. Chapter 9

Two days later, the funeral is held in a little local cemetery Dean's driven past hundreds of times but never paid attention to. This time, as he pulls up to the small metal gates, it seems impossible to miss.

 

A small gathering of people is already crowded under a tent, seating themselves in the folding chairs that make neat little rows across the grass. In front of these chairs is a coffin. Dean thanks the god he no longer believes in that it's closed.

 

Dean had always imagined graveyards as they were depicted in the movies: dark, creepy places, crows squawking overhead, an overgrown field filled with dead flowers, dead trees, and dead people. As it turns out, the dead people are the only accurate part of that description.

 

It's an absolutely gorgeous Monday afternoon, only a few puffy white clouds lackadaisically drifting across the sky, a warm breeze whispering through the green trees. Fresh flowers lie in front of many of the polished headstones.

 

Dean and Sam both take their own seats in the back (in a sea of people which Dean realizes are all strangers to him), and Gabriel makes his way to a podium and clears his throat as he taps the microphone, ensuring it's on. "Hello," he says, and the pain in his voice is so contrasting to his normal cheeriness that Dean's chest contracts involuntarily. "Thank you all for coming to Castiel's funeral." He takes a deep breath. "I know the proper etiquette for a funeral is to remember all of the good things about someone, rather than focus on their negative aspects, but I feel it's the flaws that make someone special, and God knows Cas had plenty." There's a light chuckle through the crowd, but Gabriel's small, teary smile is nothing like the real thing. "He wasn't perfect, but no one is, and so this is how I'm going to remember him.

 

"He was mad at me all the time. He loved Clint Eastwood movies. His favorite food was sushi from that terrible little Chinese place off of the highway." As Gabriel lists the aspects of Cas' life, Dean finds himself checking each one off in his mind with a corresponding memory: him yelling at Gabriel for coming home from Japan early, watching _The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly_ as he fell asleep on Dean’s shoulder, their first accountability meeting.

 

Then Gabriel continues, "He refused to follow in our father's footsteps as a businessman and aspired to be a painter since he was three."

 

A painter? Dean had never known that.

 

"He used to spend Friday nights eating a quart of ice cream while watching a Disney movie. He never wrapped his Christmas presents and he slept on his right side. His favorite color was green."

 

Dean hadn't known any of this. He hadn't known Cas' favorite color... He didn't know his favorite song or who his best friend was or if he liked the Star Wars prequels more than the sequels. Dean knew some things about him, yeah, but he'd never told him any of the stuff that mattered.

 

Gabriel apparently had ended his speech, because when Dean snaps out of his thoughts and looks up again, it's not a short golden-haired man at the podium, but a tall, black-haired woman with bright blue eyes.

 

"My brother always hated Mondays," she begins, but Dean doesn't hear the rest of it, because the words "my brother" are still bouncing around his head, looking for something to connect to.

 

When it finally hits— Cas had more than one sibling— Dean feels a rush of emotions all at once.

 

How could he have had more relatives than Gabriel? How could he have never mentioned them? Why didn't they visit him in the hospital? Dean has so many questions he thinks he might explode.

 

“There's eight of us in all, actually," a voice beside him says suddenly, and Dean turns to see Gabriel has sat down next to him. He hadn't realized he'd asked out loud.

 

 

"What? Eight kids?"

 

 

"Yeah," Gabriel says with a tiny smile. "Well, I guess seven now. Michael and Luc were the oldest, twins. Then me. Raph was adopted before our parents had Anna and Hannah, Inias was next, and then Cas was the baby of the family."

 

 

Dean isn't exactly sure what to say to that. "Why, um...." he tries, but he can't finish the question.

 

 

"Why didn't Cas ever mention them?" Gabriel says, and Dean nods. "Cas was a little bit of a rebel," he explains. "They never liked him much, and when he went off the rails and tried to kill himself the first time, Dad kicked him out. Didn't need that sort of thing ruining his reputation, I guess." Gabriel shrugs like this is the sort of news Dean was expecting to hear.

 

 

It's definitely _not_. "The first time?" he demands, and then realizes the people in front of him are giving him looks, so he asks more quietly, "What the hell does that mean?"

 

 

Gabriel stares at him incredulously. "If Cas was still alive, I'd kill him. He didn't even fucking tell you?"

 

 

"Tell me what?"

 

 

"When he called you? That was the second time that he'd tried to off himself. Why do you think he'd been in therapy and seen a psychiatrist? He already had problems before you." Gabriel scoffs when Dean looks affronted.

 

“You can’t say that sort of thing—” Dean tries, but it’s useless.

 

“Why not?” Gabriel scoffs. “Because he’s dead? Did he even tell you why he was depressed? Why he wasn’t getting any better after so long?” When Dean is silent, Gabriel actually has the audacity to laugh. “Seriously? He was such an _idiot._ He had an ex-boyfriend, Dean. A douchebag, full of shit ex-boyfriend who loved to manipulate him and cause him all sorts of pain. He finally broke up with him a couple months ago, but he wouldn’t leave Cas alone. Cas never admitted it, but I’m pretty sure he was physically abusive, too. I wouldn’t have put it past that asshole to _want_ Cas to end up dead. And, well, if that was his goal, he won.”

 

“You’re serious,” Dean says, not doubting Gabriel but wanting to make sure anyway. Gabriel nods, and Dean doesn’t even know what to do. “Why the _fuck_ would he keep that kind of thing to himself? If he told me, I could have done something about it!”

 

“Oh, really? Like what?” Gabriel asks. “What could you have done that his own brother couldn’t have? Don't think you're special, Dean. He may have liked you, considered you a friend, but he obviously didn't like you that much or he'd still be here."

 

Dean is speechless, shocked and angered into indignant silence. He wants to refute Gabriel, bite back and deny it, say Cas must not have thought Gabriel was that important either, but he can't.

 

 

Because it's true.

 

 

If he cared about Dean at all, even a little, he would have cared enough to stay.

 

 

He glares at Gabriel, who offers a sad sort of smirk, and then Dean stands up and leaves before the service is over.

 

 

He takes the Impala back to the apartment, because he knows it's more than likely Sam was going home with Gabriel anyway. He's not sure why, but at the moment he doesn't even want to think about alcohol. He just wants to talk to Cas. And he can't. So when he gets home he simply collapses on the couch and fails to sleep. He doesn't even cry.

 

 

\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/

 

 

It's about a week later that he's able to drive his sorry ass back to the graveyard.

 

He lays the bouquet he brought down on the headstone nearest him, a patch of dirt obviously freshly dug up. On the stone, the dates stand out even more than the name: Castiel Milton. 1986-2015.

 

 

Only 29 years old. And it isn't even the numbers that matter to him, really— it's the minuscule dash between them, because it represents everything important he ever accomplished. It represents Cas meeting him, fixing him, and then breaking his heart all over again.

 

 

He wants to make a speech, a monologue: how much he misses him, how much he loved him, how he'll never forget him. He wants Cas to hear him from wherever he is now, and most of all he wants him to do something about it. He wants him to come back.

 

 

But he won't. Dean knows that.

 

 

So he simply stares at the black marble headstone, and he waits. For something. He's not quite sure yet what.


	10. Epilogue

_Four years later._

 

Gabriel Milton stares at the piece of paper in his hands. He's not sure how Sam Winchester got his new address, because he’s sure didn't tell anyone what it was before he moved to New York. Nevertheless, the letter is here, and it is obviously meant for him.

 

 

_Gabriel Milton,_

_You are cordially invited to attend the wedding of Samuel Winchester and Jessica Moore._

 

 

 

There's a save-the-date refrigerator magnet underneath those words— a few months from now— and some details on how to RSVP.

 

 

Gabriel crumples up the paper and throws it in the trash.

 

 

He hasn't seen Sam Winchester in four years, and he certainly doesn't want to see him now, getting married. He's perfectly content to ignore those few months of his life and pretend they never happened.

 

Gabe's moved on, got a nice girlfriend and a new job after he got fired from the last one. He doesn't need memories of Sam, which will inevitably bring memories of Dean, and then— Cas.

 

 

Cas.

 

 

Speaking of Cas, and letters, there's another piece of paper sitting in Gabriel's desk drawer. He hasn't looked at it in four years, and by this point (while he's never forgotten it), he has been happy to ignore it. He doesn’t want to recall the memories, the regret, the guilt that this piece of paper holds in its meager content.

 

Four years ago, Dean Winchester asked him if Castiel had left a note. Gabriel had said no.

 

He lied.

 

It’s addressed to Dean, which makes it worse. Cas was dying, and he couldn’t even bother to address it to the only brother that still cared about him. It’s only five words. Two sentences. Gabe would have told Dean what it said, but the loss would have just hurt so much more. He planned on keeping it a secret until he died himself. Dean never needed to know, and so Gabe was never going to tell him.

 

It’s almost disappointing, in Gabriel’s opinion, that it’s so short. No declaration of love in Cas’ final moments, not even a goodbye. Just a miserably inadequate and unhelpful handful of words that had burned themselves into Gabriel’s brain, determined never to let go.

Gabriel wonders, briefly, if he should go to the wedding. He’d get to see Sam again, but he doesn’t know if that would be a good thing or not. He would be able to see how Dean’s been coping. Gabriel doubts that it would be much better than his own despondent situation.

In the end, he decides against it. Even if it didn’t hurt Sam or Dean to see him again, it would certainly hurt Gabe to see them. He leaves the invitation and the magnet in the trash can, and leaves his desk drawer locked.

The past is behind him, and no matter how fervently it tries to come back to haunt him, Gabriel is determined to leave it that way.

 

_Dean,_

_I’m sorry._

_I’m just tired._


End file.
